Category Archives: Motherhood

June 11, 2012 · 10:02 am

My first abortion

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I fell in love for the first time ten years ago, well at least what I thought was love. He was the typical bad boy – the one everyone warns you about; involved in drugs, a player and egotistical. I never listened, and yes my heart got broken and I did things I never expected I would do. However, I do not regret it as it has lead me to be the person I am today and I am very content within myself.

The first few months of being with him are indescribable; exciting to say the least. A bit of playing hard to get, the excitement when you hear your phone beep and hoping it was from him, the first kiss the list goes on. I was falling and falling hard. Up until I had met him I had always believed I was strong, a girl who knew what she wanted and that wouldn’t settle for less – I had a mouth on me and I knew how to use it. I was the girl that never relied on anyone to pay for me, pick me up, make me happy – I was rather independent. That was until he came along, I was completely under his “control”. He made me question my beliefs, the way I dressed, the way I spoke, the way I carried myself. He was molding me into what he thought would be the perfect girlfriend. My moods became erratic, I would lash out at those closest to me when they would try talk to me; in other words I became a b*cth. Friends and family would caution me about him when I would tell them his latest antics – and I would always have an excuse to cover up his bad behavior.

A couple of months down the line, I became an emotional mess. One key moment was whilst we were watching a movie I broke down in tears of jealousy over an actress that was beautiful – I was convinced he would rather be with her than me! I couldn’t understand it – this was not my behavior. I noticed other changes and somewhere in the back of my mind I thought to myself “maybe I am pregnant”. It definitely was probable because there were sometimes when we did not practice safe sex and I had to go get the morning after pill. I confided in my friend and she offered to take me to the pharmacy after school (I was in Matric at this time). Off we went on her scooter, laughing and joking about it. Surely I wasn’t pregnant? Alas three tests later and I was definitely pregnant! Sh*t, now what?

To say the boyfriend wasn’t thrilled is an understatement, he immediately got on the phone to his older brother and asked where I could get an abortion! He broke down and said that his father would kill him and I was far too young to be a mom. I don’t know if I should just blame it on the hormones, the love I felt for him or the lack of maturity on my side but I agreed to go the next morning and have the abortion.

We arrived at the clinic, a dodgey little shop in the middle of town. I was shivering, starving and petrified, the boyfriend tried to comfort me and tell me that we were doing the right thing. We walked in and sat down in a queue of people and I just knew right then there was no way I could do this without speaking to my parents first (I am the only child and have an extremely close relationship with my parents – just shows you how toxic this relationship was that I did not go to my mom straight away). I burst into tears and told him I could not do it without speaking to my mom, he told me that it was fine but that he would never step foot in my parents house again.

I roped in my best friend and we told my mother, which then lead to telling father, obviously they were not happy and rather disappointed but they were as always caring and supportive. Both my parents agreed that an abortion would be best for me; my best friend also seemed to think so as well. So now I had four people rooting for an abortion and now that I think of it no one asked me if that’s what I wanted. I suppose subconsciously I had made up my mind as well. We went the following Monday to book an appointment with a reputable family clinic, where I was well informed of the procedure and the effects it would have on me – the lady I spoke with was amazing and she really put my mind to ease. I was booked in for the Wednesday and the abortion would be done under anesthetic.

The morning arrived; my mom and best friend would be coming with me. The boyfriend had to work – never mind we bumped into him and his brother at the garage – they were on their way home from a party! Yet still, I covered up for him and said just maybe that was his way with dealing with it. It was not the traumatic experience I thought it would be but I would put that to the fact that I was under anesthetic and had some really amazing support from my mom and best friend as well as the staff at the clinic.

That night my parents had to go to a work function and my boyfriend came over but he would rather have been at his ex-girlfriends 18th birthday party. Right that was the perfect way to end an emotional day! He eventually left for the party and I was left alone to my own devices and all I remember is feeling numb. I knew I should be upset, crying – I had just aborted a tiny little baby! Maybe I should have felt relieved? It was over and I could move on but I felt nothing. I have this ‘thing’ that when I am confronted with matters that really get to my heart I either push them back as far as I can or I make light of it, I never fully deal with it. My coping mechanism I suppose.

Or my coping mechanism could have been the copious amounts of alcohol consumed, the experimenting with drugs and a one night stand (stories for another day), or finally forgiveness. It has taken me a long time – I initially seemed to have “forgotten” but not forgiven, but I am happy to say that I have finally forgiven myself and found a sort of sense of peace – I will never forget but I hope that I have learnt from it. The abortion and unhealthy relationship led me to take some very wrong turns, but there was a lesson at every turn and boy did I learn them. I have changed my life around completely and am strong in my convictions, beliefs and myself.

So fast forward 10 years later – the boyfriend and I never worked out (surprise!), he is now a father to two gorgeous children, a boy and a girl but apparently not very happy with his babies mama, which is sad to hear especially because of the children. Me? I am happily in love – real pure, honest, respectful and true – with an amazing man (7 years almost) and I believe the wedding bells will ring shortly. I cannot wait to be the mother of his children – if God so blesses us- and I will give them extra love to make up for the ‘lost’ one.

I would just like to put a note out: the morning after pill does work, in most cases, however and what some pharmacists do not tell you is that if you take it too often, your body gets used to it and it will not work. I had taken it three times in three weeks and that is how I fell pregnant (well there was the birds and bees involved – of course)! By saying that it works, I do not recommend it – I recommend the ABC’s – abstinence, birth control and a condom.

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January 20, 2012 · 9:24 am

The First Time I was Pregnant for a Day

Okay so obviously it wasn’t really only one day. I was actually three-weeks-and-a-day-pregnant when I found out. The decision was an easy for me; it simply wasn’t the right time. So the day after I found out, I took steps to have a medical termination and this is how it all happened.

Tuesday, 14h15

Stood in Clicks looking at the array of pregnancy tests:  disposable, electronic, early pregnancy, twin packs and more. I went for the one in the pink Toblerone shaped box. I only got it to put my mind at ease after being less than responsible with my pill on a recent month of travel and then having some great break-up sex with my recently ex-boyfriend on my return. Then I got cracking with my Christmas shopping to distract nosy shoppers’ eyes from the anomaly in my basket.

15h30

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Got home and dumped shopping bags on the kitchen counter. Kept having to stop myself from thinking, “I’ll just have a quick wee and then I do the test.” Ripped open the packet with distinct diagrams to the effect that “one line = exhale, two lines = knocked up” and peed on the stick. My home phone started ringing, “Bugger!” I galloped to the lounge with my shorts and panties around my knees, “Hello?”. A fax tone responded: beep, beep, beep. I glanced at the stick: one line. Then, as the liquid travelled further up the window, as inevitable as a wave claiming the beach, a second line appeared. I realised I was still holding the phone, begging the fax machine on the other end to take the second line away, “No. No no no. Please no, please, please no.” The two bold lines remained. I wasn’t just me anymore.

15h32

Phoned ex-boyfriend hyperventilating.  I bellowed, “I’M FUCKING PREGNANT!” with absolutely no rom-com charm. Sat on the floor in t-shirt and panties, crying into a towel and staring at those two lines in absolute disbelief while ex-boyfriend came rushing over from work.

He was totally lovely – everything anyone in my position could have asked for. He was tender and respectful and concerned and absolutely supportive in every way of every choice and decision I made.

17h00

Went back and got another two tests. All positive. Like cherries on a slot machine, “Bing! Bing! Bing! You’re so freaking pregnant!” I sat looking at the three tests for ages. I kept returning to them, mesmerised. Ex-boyfriend worried that it would make me sad.

19h30

Phoned my best friend who laid it down in ecological terms: “In nature, when an animal is carrying a baby and the time is not right – there’s not enough food or there’s danger – the animal naturally aborts. This is your beautiful body and it’s your right to choose what happens to you. Right now, what’s inside you is a group of cells.The is just not right and you’ve chosen to do what’s best for you. You are so brave; you’ve made a really brave decision. We are all here for you.”

23h00

Couldn’t sleep. It was four days until Christmas and I had no idea how long any procedure would take. Googled local clinics and decided to see my GP first thing. Lay next to ex-boyf and talked. He kept making me laugh by pretending to fall asleep mid- sentence.

Wednesday 7h00

Woke up and stared at the ceiling alone for ages before ex-boyf woke up. Felt the numbness of disbelief trickle into a warm, magical feeling of wonder. I felt special. I still didn’t even consider having the baby but just the mere fact that I did it. My body was made to get pregnant and I did it. It felt quietly wonderful.

Got up and phoned the GP. Made an appointment first thing.

08h30

My normal GP was on leave for Christmas and so I had to see the other doc in the building. As I announced that I thought I was pregnant, the turd responded with “Oh wonderful! That’s such exciting news!”

After clarifying the situation, she gave me a list of recommended Gynaecologists who “deal with this sort of thing”. After trying most of them only to hear that they were on leave, I found a Woman’s Wellness GP who would see me that afternoon but I needed an ultrasound before then to make sure it wasn’t an ectopic pregnancy.

11h00

Sat in a gown in a tiny room drinking water for an hour before my bladder was full enough for the technician to use as a lens to see into my uterus. It was totally like the movies: cold gel, what looked like a roll-on deodorant, a black and white screen.

13h00

Met with the new gynae-GP. She was amazing. She invited ex-boyf in but I decided I wanted to do it by myself. She explained everything clearly without being judgemental or condescending. I had found out so early that I could use the medical method which involved taking a series of medications which terminates the pregnancy and induces a period over two or three days. She was thorough with understanding my emotional state, my support structures and my decision-making.

15h30

Took the first medication that would detach the foetus from the lining of my womb.

The procedure went off without a hitch. The doc was in touch on the phone every day; I hardly suffered any symptoms, in fact, I think family Christmas (which I went to the next day) was more painful! Ex-boyf sat next to me for three days straight while my body let go. It’s taken a while to process it all since then; you can’t rush figuring it all out for yourself. I’m grateful that the (second) doctor was so great. I only wish other girls in this situation could be treated so well; cared for and respected.

I told my family in my own time and in my own way. Maybe that’ll be another story.

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February 15, 2011 · 3:17 pm

The First Time I Had A Miscarriage

The first time I started writing this, I started writing about what happened. About the events of the miscarriage, as if by giving a blow by blow account, I could somehow relay what the experience has been like. While it may give a picture, it also doesn’t.

Now a month later, having read the blow by blow account, I can see it as a stage of the process of dealing with loss. Getting to grips with the what happened, running through the series of events to figure it out, make sense of something that as far as I’m concerned shouldn’t have happened, and still shouldn’t be.

I’m left with loss, anger and a great huge massive disappointment. With the fact that it was a risky pregnancy from the first, disconcordant twins, but that despite the risk we dared to dream. We spent hours imagining our new lives, parents of twins. Debating names, thinkin of next steps, getting our very excited heads and hearts around the very beloved, very wanted, very happy expansion of our love and our family.

Two days of shuffling from doctor without ultrasound, to doctor with ultrasound, to gynae with even better ultrasound who confirmed that one of the twins was already gone, and the other had no heartbeat, and then referred me to the person who my medical aid would pay for to do a D&C (where they scrape out your womb). With varying levels of kindness, concern and compassion, and various levels of skills with their bedside manners, we had a cycle of hope and despair, which culminated in my tears rolling down my cheeks as I sunk into the unconscious of general anaesthetic, probably the most alone and out of control I’ve ever felt in my life.

Waking up after the operation, no consciousness stopping my thoughts coming out of my mouth, my first concern was what happened to the tissue that would have become my babies, what did they do with it, the nurses replied immediately, comfortingly that they would be burned, not a proper burial, or any kind of cremation to mark my loss of dreams, but burned, so at least not sitting in a bin somewhere thrown away like a piece of rubbish. For some reason the distinction was and still is very important to me.

And then we had to start telling all the people who had known about the pregnancy that we were no longer pregnant. It was a responsibility I abdicated, especially in the first couple of days. I didn’t want to speak to anyone, I didn’t want to have to deal with any sympathy when I knew sympathy was all most people had to offer. I didn’t want to have to talk about it to anyone. That still echoes, most people around me have no idea of the extent to which its still impacting me, mostly because I won’t show, and I won’t tell.

And then when I did start talking, what I got was an overwhelming response of people’s stories of their own loss of children, early miscarriages, stillborn’s, of horrific experiences with doctors and medical staff, of the lack of choice, and many of their subsequent pregnancies. What I’m left with is a sense that like rape, like domestic violence, that miscarriage is SO common, so ordinary, so everyday, and yet like these other things that are so common to women’s lives, they are also silent. Also at the mercy of doctors and other professionals who are vague about the impact. In my case, I wasn’t even told I had alternatives to a D&C operation (like waiting for the miscarriage to bleed out naturally, or taking medication to push the bleeding along). Like a friend who shared her rage that when she chose the option of the medication that would initate cramping and bleeding, that her doctor told her she would experience some cramping and pain, and fairly heavy bleeding, and what turned out to be the case was blood splattering, earth shattering pain which required care, attention and assistance, not being sent home with the idea that this was just routine. Like the other friend who’s doctor kept giving her induction drugs until the baby was killed, and the ceaser resulted in stillbirth, and then to add insult to injury, she was stitched up so badly that she got infected and had to go back three times.

And vague information about allowing yourself time to mourn, and being aware of the impact of shifting hormones and a re-adjusting body which in no way describes how mood swings, overwhelming irritation which could make something as simple as a tomato cut the wrong way turn into an end of the world magnitude event and result in wailing. About the vividness of nightmares, and the shame of loss. Even when I know this all, having counselled for years, being aware of the cycle of grief to the degree that I can watch myself and say ‘oh look, there’s anger’ makes no bloody difference.

And this silence, this veil of ‘secrecy’ that exists about how common this occurrence is, that the figures of between 1 in 4, and up to 40% of pregnancies are known miscarriages (some never know, just have a heavy period), that this silence is so absolute. Until you start telling your story. And then find out how common your experience is. And the thing that sucks – THAT MAKES ABSOLUTELY NO DIFFERENCE! In fact, it makes me feel like I just need to deal with my grief that much more quickly, to just cope because people do, all the time. And while I don’t want to define myself by my loss, I don’t want it to congeal into a major part of my identity, because of this, I’m struggling to allow myself room to feel, room to mourn, room to be angry that life (once again) has not turned out the way I thought it would. Guess I’m still learning that lesson in every way.

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